


Written in the Blood

by sidewinder



Category: Brimstone
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Trick Or Treat Prompts Challenge, Trick or Treat: Trick, Undead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-10 04:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12291738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: The devil prepares Ezekiel for his mission.





	Written in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPhoenix/gifts).



“Have you prepared everything for me? Exactly as I described?"

"To your precise requests and nothing less, my lord."

He stepped into the room and looked around, confirming that everything was in fact as he had wished. Of course it had better be—his servants knew better than to disappoint him, in even the smallest detail. "Leave me. No interruptions,” he instructed.

"Yes, my lord."

He waited for the sound of scurrying hooves to fade into the distance before moving forward. The human’s pale fleshed gleamed like the moon in the night sky, as he lay on the slab of black onyx.

The devil was happy. Not with the situation which had made these preparations necessary, granted. But he was content with his choice of this human. Satan knew he had the potential to set things right.

 _Oh yes_ , he thought as he moved closer, and studied the human’s naked form. _He most definitely has potential._

The man slumbered, for now. It would be first peaceful sleep he had known in the fifteen years since his death. And he would not awaken from his slumbers until the devil sent him back to Earth. Before then, however, Satan had one preparatory task to see through.

It was unnecessary, perhaps, but the idea had come to him as he’d brooded upon this regrettable situation. He needed to ensure this man, this Ezekiel Stone, would stick to his mission and remain loyal. He could not afford to have this damned soul turn traitor and join his quarry instead of bringing them in.

He had asked for only three items to be left in this chamber for his use: a small bowl, a knife, and a quill. He found them waiting on the onyx slab, next to Ezekiel's head. He picked up the knife and inspected the sharpness of the blade...perfect.

Satan would accept no less.

Ready, he placed his right hand above the bowl, and brought the blade across his wrist. Amber blood began to seep from the wound, pooling on his inhuman flesh and then dripping into the bowl.

The wound, self-inflicted, hurt. He could heal it with a thought, but it was too soon. He needed more blood to complete this task. And so he endured the pain as punishment for the recklessness which had brought him to these desperate measures.

He waited until the bowl was near full. He pulled his hand away and pressed his left palm over the wound, directing healing energy into it. The amber liquid was thick and radiant—the blood of an angel. It would burn and stain human flesh.

It would also bind any such marked human to him.

His eyes and attention drifted back to the slumbering figure on the slab. He had pale skin and ashen-blond hair, and was large-framed but not imposing. Very pretty, in a human fashion. After the devil finished with him, he would be more than that. He would be a work of art, a story told in flesh, and blood.

Satan paced around him, visualizing. Touching, tracing, thinking, but he knew he could not wait too long. The blood still steamed but it would cool, in time, and he did not wish to have to draw more.

He picked up the quill, dipped the tip in the bowl. Thus he began his work.

 _One…two...three...four..._ He knew all their names, every last one of the hundred and thirteen. The damned, the cursed escapees. He chuckled as he wrote some of their names on this human flesh, thinking of the trouble they were no doubt already causing on Earth. It was delightful to think about, really, and to an extent he regretted having to round them up and bring them home.

But their defiance was too great an insult to the devil’s authority to remain unchallenged, unpunished. And those up above, curse them…they were not pleased with this state of affairs. So he would send this human back to Earth as his assassin, his bounty hunter…

His slave bound by soul and now, in blood.

The devil did not pause in his work until he finished it. Every name, penned in the language of angels, now covering the human’s torso and arms. Places he could see them and wonder what they meant, where he’d always be reminded of his duty and assignment. He stood back to admire his handiwork, and to consider the last bit of blood remaining in his bowl.

Enough to write one final name. A name that returning the damned souls to Hell would not remove.

He close a place where that name could easily hide among the others, almost be indecipherable as separate from them. He wondered how long it would take for Ezekiel Stone to figure it out. To count, to notice, this one extra name.

His own. A mark of possession, instead of an assignment.

A mark that would never burn away.

The devil chuckled softly to himself, pleased and satisfied. He would gather Ezekiel up in his arms and take him to the place where the escapees had opened a rift to the land of the living. Once there, he’d send him through to awaken back in that world.

And then, he imagined, the fun and games would _really_ begin.

 


End file.
